


aster, for patience

by owl



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Attempt at Humor, Bad Pick-Up Lines, Bad Puns, Flirting, Fluff, M/M, Pining, florist!wonwoo, lapslock, umbrella boys!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-03
Updated: 2017-12-03
Packaged: 2019-02-10 01:58:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12901527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owl/pseuds/owl
Summary: when you go to buy flowers, you're not supposed to steal the florist's heart in the process.(or, how the universe conspires to bring wonwoo and soonyoung together.)





	aster, for patience

**Author's Note:**

> so!!!! hello! some soft stuff to address before we begin:
> 
> to karen: this isn't the flower shop fic You Deserve or the one you Asked For but it is indeed the one you're receiving™. yeehaw to that! ily uwu. 
> 
> to amber, pippo, and danie: i can't even begin to articulate how much i love you guys or how much you guys mean to me. you guys are (cue dumb flower metaphor, because i'm _me_ ) rly the sunlight that helped this fic bloom, and i'm just. thank you for all the encouragement and love and i'm love u guys!!!
> 
> to rhhb: i miss you guys more than anything but!! check it out i can finally consider myself worthy to be in a fic-writing gc of some of the greatest minds, like, ever. love u guys!!!
> 
> and to all the wonderful people i've met in swn: i'm constantly in awe of how talented all of you are and how lucky i am to be able to laugh about and cry over and love snwu with just. the best people in the entire universe! and i hope you like my tiny contribution to the snwu tag!
> 
> i've been growing this tiny little universe of mine for quite a while now (i started this in. june? yeah!) and it _is_ the first fic i've written and completed and posted, so!!!! please be gentle, and i hope you enjoy these boys doing dumb stuff a lot. ♡♡♡♡♡

“you,” wonwoo says, “look like someone i could spend the rest of my life loving.”

of all the phrases included in the list entitled “things that are okay to say the first time you meet someone”, this is probably not one of them, yet the words are spilling out of wonwoo’s mouth before he can even think to stop. his mind is full of thoughts of holding the hands of the boy in front of him, not holding his own tongue and keeping himself from looking like an idiot, so he lets affection and enamoredness and embarrassment blossom in his chest and in his stomach and in the red dusting his cheeks.

the boy in front of him blinks.

“thanks?” he says in reply. wonwoo blinks back at him.

“uh, yeah, anyway”. perfect recovery, wonwoo. flawless. “so that’ll be 17 dollars for the bouquet, 18.19 with tax,” wonwoo manages to get out. it’s hard to remember that you’ve got a job to do, that you’re still a flower shop employee surrounded by flora that fills your paycheck when you’re busy imagining weddings and the names of your future children and the color of the windowsills of the house you’ll share and whether or not your monogrammed couple towels will be trimmed in gold or silver.

but, wait.

it’s hard to visualize monogrammed couple towels when wonwoo doesn’t even have a name to match the face that he’s fallen for. call him a casanova: his next line, delivered with all the smoothness in the world, is “can i get your name too, while we’re at it?”

“it’s soonyoung,” the man in front of him replies, and hands wonwoo his credit card. soonyoung is visibly unperturbed by wonwoo’s advances, sporting a slight “i’m just trying to purchase a bouquet of flowers for my sister’s graduation and this retail employee won’t let me live” smile.

it’s endearing, wonwoo thinks, and completes the transaction in a state of “literal heart-eye-emoji”.

“well, soon _young_ , ” wonwoo begins. soonyoung’s credit card changes hands once again. “i’d love to grow _old_  with you.”

if wonwoo had a mic to drop, he would drop it right then and there. much to his own behest he does not, so he settles for gently placing a bouquet of lilies and lavender and hyacinths in soonyoung’s waiting hands, pink and purple and blue and bright. soonyoung blinks again, and his fingers close around the flowers’ stems. his hands are chubby and squishy and cute. wonwoo is once again led deep into daydreams of holding them before his thoughts are interrupted—

—with soonyoung’s smile. god, wait. not just his smile, his _laugh_ too. wonwoo ponders for a second on what god he must have pleased, what saintly act must he have done in a past life to be gifted with such a treat. soonyoung laughs like it comes straight from his soul. it’s loud, but pleasant and genuine, and pierces directly into wonwoo’s heart. bam bam, perfect shot. you’re in love now. each laugh shoves wonwoo deeper into the hole of “whipped for soonyoung, first-time flower shop customer, owner of the cutest laugh in the world”. he laughs at his jokes, too, which really just seals the deal.

“i didn’t know i was buying dumb pick up lines alongside these flowers, but thanks anyway,” soonyoung says. his grip around the bouquet tightens, but wonwoo is too distracted by wedding bells and love songs and the melody of soonyoung’s giggle to notice.

“well, the pick up line was free, for you,” wonwoo replies, elbows leaning forward on the flower shop counter. “was it really dumb?”

soonyoung pauses in thought, nose scrunched, lips pursed. “dumb enough for me to comment on it and dumb enough for me to laugh, so i’d say yes.” he answers with an enthusiastic nod and a satisfied smile. “but thank you again for the flowers! they’re beautiful!”

“never as beautiful as you,” wonwoo replies. there’s no room for shame in him at the moment—in his mind he’ll get a number now and a date tomorrow and be able to wake up to soonyoung’s smile in the morning for infinite days to come, but what he gets instead is a gentle wave goodbye and a softly-chuckled “thank you” as soonyoung walks away. it harmonizes with the bells of the flower shop’s doors, signalling his exit.

to wonwoo, the bells usually sound like “goodbye, thank you for another day’s worth of work” or “i hope the boy who overpaid for too many roses has a nice date” or “the lady who spent two hours debating between white lilies or pink lilies never ended up making up her mind, sorry”. right now, the bells say to him: “congratulations, you fell in love with a boy in record time and never got his number. have fun dying alone.”

⚘ ⚘ ⚘ ⚘ ⚘

wonwoo spends the next couple of days in some kind of emotional limbo: half the time his thoughts are tied up in daydreams and idealistic scenarios (in his mind they’ve lived through five different wedding venues, four honeymoons, and died together happily twice. his favorite iteration included falling in love at a circus and selling star-shaped balloons and cotton candy together for a living. call it _sweet_ ). of course, wonwoo’s spent some time concentrating on his actual job—enough to not get fired, but not enough to satiate the odd looks he gets from his boss.

(“did something happen?”

“...no?”

“are you sure? because the blush on your face says otherwise. and you’ve been smiling a lot lately. have you met someone?”

“i really didn—”

“oh my god, you met them _here_ , didn’t you? isn’t that straight out of a fanfiction or something? are they cute? are they nice? are they good in bed—”

“jeonghan, please stop.”)

he’s very cute. and very nice. the last point wonwoo can only speculate on, can only hope for. (he does so rather often.)

the other half of his time has been spent throwing coins in a wishing well. figuratively, he means. between working and commuting and curling himself around whatever novel has captured his attention, wonwoo folds his daydreams into a thousand paper cranes, tosses desire-filled bottles into the sea, wishes on shooting stars he does not see.

he thinks to himself, likely much too often, “i want to see soonyoung again”.

it’s foolish in a way, he knows.

it’s foolish to meet someone once, to share a single breath out of the millions of inhales and exhales you will make and decide to spend the rest of them whispering love poems about them to your morning coffee. he’s shared, what, maybe ten words with the guy? wonwoo barely knows soonyoung—doesn’t know soonyoung at all, actually.

(but he wants to. he wants to know more than just a name and a smile and a laugh that’s tattooed onto each of his thoughts, but you can’t type “soonyoung, angelic smile, squishy hands” into google and expect to make progress.)

so wonwoo tucks his soonyoung-filled fantasies into a dusty, metaphorical cabinet labeled “things that will never happen”, right between “traveling to jupiter” and “becoming an idol”, and continues on.

⚘ ⚘ ⚘ ⚘ ⚘

but there are times when the universe is kind. there are times where the universe looks upon jeon wonwoo, with limbs too long and too many nerves and too much love in his heart, and decides to be kind. this universe decides that jeon wonwoo deserves a boy with limbs just long enough to wrap around wonwoo and hands just big enough to fit into wonwoo’s and a smile just bright enough to make wonwoo feel like every day is a sunny day even if it’s rainy or cloudy or night.

so it makes sense that when the universe decides to answer wonwoo’s prayers, it’s on the rainiest day of the year.

⚘ ⚘ ⚘ ⚘ ⚘

there are a lot of things that jeon wonwoo is used to.

an alarm will ring at six o’clock in the morning, and wonwoo will enjoy listening to shinee’s “lucifer” fill his apartment until he no longer enjoys listening to shinee’s “lucifer” and nears the brink of cursing shinee’s name and all of their hit tracks forever, at which point he will blink away whatever sleep in his system is left and perform an intensive skincare routine (read as: a splash of cold water and hope for the best). he’ll leave his apartment after a cup of coffee, early enough to catch the bus to work but not early enough to have time to “stop and smell the roses”, or, in his case, play with his neighbor’s cat. (there’s always enough time to smell the roses when you work at _literal_  flower shop—enough time for wonwoo to get tired of the smell and vow to buy ~~soonyoung~~ his future partner lavender and honeysuckle instead.)

wonwoo will arrive to work promptly, greeted by his boss’ smile and, if he’s particularly unlucky, a stack of orders and a need for his second cup of coffee of the day. sometime later jeonghan will take a nap in the backroom, alternating between citing a headache, pulling an all-nighter, or pointing out that “i’m a self-employed boss so why do i need to make excuses anyway? i’ll see you in an hour or two, wonwoo. maybe sooner if you’re in my dreams!”

but wonwoo’s used to it, maybe even prefers it: the way the calm of the flower shop brings his life to a soft lull, the way the quiet allows him to arrange his thoughts into plots and poetry and prose like flowers into a bouquet. he’s used to arranging flowers too, if being trusted by a sleeping jeonghan is any recognition. there are floriography books nestled between kafka and murakami on wonwoo’s shelves that have seen better days than their dog-eared, well-loved state.

he will spend the rest of his daylight hours chatting lazily with jeonghan and helping the customers that step into their flower shop, ignoring the faint taste of disappointment that hits him every time a customer is  _not_ kwon soonyoung—which is, unfortunately, all of the times. but he doesn’t mind, really. he’s built a schedule of work and thinking with daydreams on the side, a castle of familiarity that he resides in. it’s comfortable enough.

so if the morning starts off with a drizzle instead of the sky’s usual sunshine? it’s whatever, wonwoo can shrug it off. he brings an umbrella to work.

and if the growing sound of rain hitting the flower shop’s roof makes it pretty difficult to hear customers’ requests? that’s alright too, wonwoo’s good at listening! the best at listening! ~~perfect boyfriend material!~~

if jeonghan receives a frantic call from his boyfriend in the afternoon, asking him to return to their apartment and save the succulents on their balcony from drowning? it’s fine, really. wonwoo will be okay once he gets over the shock of experiencing the tail end of a conversation that goes: _the rain is falling really hard. oh yeah? just like how i fell for you. ohoh!_ he’s closed the flower shop alone before with no problems—albeit not when it was raining cats and dogs and likely some other, larger farm animals too, but he’ll deal with that issue when he gets there. he sends jeonghan off with a “say hi to josh for me!”, and wonwoo’s universe is essentially back in order.

right now there’s a tender old lady with cheeks rosier than the roses she’s purchasing asking him what “the difference between floral scissors and herb snips” is, and “whether or not they offer them for sale here?”

“herb snips is just another name for floral scissors,” wonwoo replies. in his brain he’s laughing at the term “herb snips”—it’s affectionate, but just the thought of proposing to “snip some herbs!” has him chucking. he chalks the smile that appears on his face up to his great customer service as he continues, “we don’t have them for sale, but i’d be happy to trim the flowers for you here.”

the lady smiles in return. “thank you; that’d be perfect.” he rings her up, trims her roses with ease, and sends her off with sincere wishes for a nice day ahead—even if the weather isn’t exactly in their favor. what can he say? wonwoo has a soft spot for old ladies.

and wonwoo’s day continues like that, tending to the flowers and any customers that decided that their errands proved important enough to brave the rain. six o’clock comes sooner than wonwoo expects, and he’s locking up the flower shop’s doors while humming rain’s rainism—the song and artist title serving the dual purpose of fitting the occasion while  _also_ bringing wonwoo amusement—before he knows it.

and—”oh, shit.”

that’s truly the only way to phrase the situation wonwoo’s in, because in no universe did wonwoo predict the extent of this storm. it’s really more a downpour than anything, a constant, thunderous roar of raindrops that hit the sidewalk like meteors, that would probably feel like punches on wonwoo’s skin. he worries for his umbrella, when—

—”oh,  _shit_ _!_ ”

and  _that's_ truly the only way to address the situation wonwoo’s in, because if the rain was given to him as a curse on his delicate physique then there’s some god out there granting blessings upon wonwoo in return, because standing under the flower shop’s awning and wiping water out of his eyes not even three feet from him is none other than soonyoung himself. drenched, soaked, and every other iteration of the word, but it’s _him_ _,_ he’s  _there_ , and wonwoo’s standing there gaping because a soaking wet soonyoung was never in any of his daydreams but he clearly  _should_ have been because the way his shirt clings to his arms should also be  _illegal_ , and _wow is his shirt almost see-through_ —

“oh hey, flower shop guy!” soonyoung smiles, and wonwoo almost  _swoons_. instead, he curses every day-dreamed up version of soonyoung’s smile that he’d created up to then, because none of them can compare to how stunning the real deal is. seriously. wonwoo can see the rain and hear the rain and feel how disgustingly _sticky_  the rain makes him feel, but soonyoung smiles and he swears he can see the sun for a second.

wonwoo musters enough brain power to reply like a normal, if not still incredibly smitten human being: “most people call me wonwoo, but you can…” does he dare say it? (he does.) “...call me tonight.”

a moment passes, almost as if soonyoung’s deciding whether to laugh or drop dead on the spot from sheer aggravation. fortunately, it’s the former, and wonwoo’s ears are once again blessed with the sound.

“dude, do you _ever_ stop?”

“dude, will this  _rain_ ever stop?”

“touché.” soonyoung’s laugh fades at that point, like he’s just now coming to the realization that he’s soaked to his core. “i took shelter from the rain under your awning, by the way. if you were wondering.”

“ah, and i was here thinking you came to visit me,” wonwoo chuckles. he supposes he’s only  _half_ _-_ kidding. “are you okay now, at least?”

soonyoung exhales, but the sound’s lost to the hum of the rain. “well, i’m kind of...” he gestures down at his wet t-shirt and jeans with empty hands, void of anything that offers protection from the rain. “stuck here for the meantime, i guess.”

and wonwoo, finally regaining enough motor skill to feel the weight of the umbrella in his hands, remembers that he’s had this daydream before: “wonwoo the knight in shining armor feat. soonyoung the damsel in distress”. although there are significantly less dragons in this iteration of the situation, it still presents itself in shining, dazzling lights: a chance to woo kwon soonyoung, hero-style.

that’s the thing, though—no matter how deeply wonwoo fantasizes or how smug he is about whatever lame pick-up line comes out of his mouth, wonwoo isn’t actually  _smooth_. he’s not a knight in shining armor. he’s not even a knight in shining tin foil. he’s just a guy with an umbrella, and a fleeting crush on a guy that he barely knows.

sometimes ( _this time?_ ), that’s enough to work with.

so wonwoo grips the handle of his umbrella and pushes it open, the force of it making him stumble forwards into the rain. he thinks he hears soonyoung let out a soft chuckle at wonwoo’s clumsiness.

if wonwoo was looking at soonyoung at that moment, he’d see soonyoung regarding him with a quiet fondness, with almost an amazement. like something in wonwoo’s disjointed courtship had succeeded, melting something inside soonyoung into endearment—like sunlight peeking through the clouds. a beginning.

but wonwoo’s not looking at soonyoung; he’s busy wrestling his umbrella into clicking safely open. at the behest of some disgruntled god he has to miss out on being heart-flutteringly regarded all whilst looking like a fool.

“fucking—”, wonwoo mutters under his breath. the umbrella’s runner clicks into its notch. “ _finally_. what the hell.” he turns back to soonyoung (missing a glimpse of soonyoung’s incredibly endeared expression) with a look of pride, and, perhaps, a shade of embarrassment over having struggled with an umbrella for too many moments.

“i can walk you home, if you want,” wonwoo says, and it’s almost _easy_ for a few blessed heartbeats. easy, until wonwoo realizes soonyoung’s looking straight into his eyes with that fluttery smile of his, and wonwoo feels his heart pound inside his chest. he nearly drops his umbrella.

“after all that effort you put in?” soonyoung says, raising an eyebrow, “it’d be an honor.” he slides next to wonwoo underneath the umbrella and somehow manages to make his teasing smile even brighter. jesus christ.

wonwoo’s seen enough of his guilty pleasure, self-indulgent shoujo anime to know that sharing an umbrella in the rain is a rare, tender form of intimacy. he’s spent enough time in his own self-indulgent daydreams to form hypotheses on just _how_ intimate that intimacy is, and, once again, wonwoo’s thoughts seem to enjoy underestimating how flustered he gets in romantic situations.

he’s close enough to feel the heat of soonyoung’s body, and painfully aware of the mere centimeters between them. over them, the umbrella creates a sort of sound bubble, enveloped by the white noise of the rain and the quiet hum of soonyoung’s breath and the static of wonwoo’s own brain having a gay little breakdown.

soonyoung nudges him, and the damp cloth of soonyoung’s shirt sleeve coming into contact with wonwoo’s arm is enough to jolt him out of said gay little breakdown. “are we going to get going, mr. flower shop guy, or are you going to stand there and stare at me until i freeze to death?”

wonwoo briefly considers the idea before responding to soonyoung, whose smile is playful now, teasing. “you know, you’re awfully pushy for a guy i barely know.”

“hey, i barely know you either! you could—” soonyoung pouts at that, his lower lip sticking out and glistening. cute. “you could be a robber or super-villain or a con artist as a side job to being a flower shop guy!”

“first of all, the term is _florist_ , actually. not flower shop guy.”

soonyoung’s pout just intensifies at that, and wonwoo holds himself back from crying at his urge to kiss him right then and there. “fine. florist guy,” he huffs. “i’ll lead, by the way. i don’t live too far!”

they spend some time walking in silence then, wonwoo’s shoulder bumping occasionally into soonyoung’s damp one. soonyoung’s leading them around a corner when he breaks the lull in their conversation: “you know, i wouldn’t mind it.”

“mind what?” wonwoo replies.

“getting to know you better!” soonyoung says with a glittering smile, and in the midst of that wonwoo is reminded how dangerously and miraculously close all his daydreams of kissing and holding and dating soonyoung are to becoming a reality.

it’s then that wonwoo steps into a puddle accidentally, and it splashes up and moistens his ankles. “gross.”

“hey, what the hell?” soonyoung’s pouting again, and he remains unfairly cute. “that was rude!”

“no, i was talking about—” wonwoo gestures nervously to the rain, because fuck, his socks are wet, but also _fuck_ , the guy he’s been daydreaming about for all of _way_ too long is under his umbrella and wants to get to know _him_ , so it’s really a give-and-take karmic universal effect of which he’s on the better side, “—never-mind. what would you like to know?”

soonyoung hums, thinking, as they continue down the street. “how did you become mr. florist guy?”

“well, first i submitted a job application—”

“no, i mean, like,” soonyoung cuts him off. “i feel like you like your job? and that it fits you. and that you have some wildly fitting character arc development that got you to this point.”

“ah, there’s no character development here. but as for me fitting my job…” wonwoo ponders for a second. “i’ve always been into literature—”

“oh, so you’re a _nerd_ —”

“and—hey, n— _yes_ , but anyway, once i got hired here i got really into studying flower meanings and their significance, and it’s _so_ cool how arranging bouquets can be just like writing, just with flowers as words and with connotations that are ten times as subtle and they’re pretty and they smell nice on top of all of it and i—” wonwoo’s rambling, he realizes, and he falters. but he glances over at soonyoung and sees nothing but interest and encouragement and even _stars_ in his eyes, and continues. “you’re right, i do like it a lot.”

soonyoung smiles. “so give me an example of your flower-writing, flower guy!”

wonwoo pauses for a second or two, rain filling the silence with a rhythm of rain-drops on top of their umbrella, and begins, “forsynthia, for anticipation. zephyranthes—or, it’s known as rain-lily also, for rain, of course. and sweet pea, for farewells.” wonwoo smiles, almost prideful, “‘waiting for this rain to go away.’”

soonyoung raises his eyebrows, and applauds wonwoo delicately. “well, sweet pea.”

“e-excuse me?” wonwoo says. for a second it sounds like soonyoung had chosen a _pet name_ for him, and wonwoo blushes at the fact that ‘sweet pea’ was a triumphant number four on the list entitled “terms of endearment ~~i want soonyoung to call me~~ ”.

“sweet pea means farewell, right?” soonyoung gestures to a brownstone that they’re slowly approaching, a homey structure with carnations in the flowerbeds out front. “this is me!”

“i didn’t know that you were a house,” wonwoo deadpans, “but i appreciate your use of flower language.”

soonyoung lets out another blessed chuckle in response, and leads wonwoo up to his door. wonwoo watches soonyoung dig briefly in his pockets, and he pulls out a key ring — with a naruto keychain amongst his keys, no less. cute. soonyoung is _cute_ , wonwoo thinks for the nth time, and his brain is so caught up in wondering who would be naruto and who would be sasuke in some far-off universe that he barely registers the puddles littering the steps. the steps are slippery, slick from the rain, and wonwoo feels his shoes lose their grip, feels himself fall, _falling—_

“ah, careful!”, and there is a sturdy arm around wonwoo’s waist, catching him, holding him steady.

more specifically, it’s  _soonyoung's_ arm wrapped tightly around wonwoo’s waist. fuck. wonwoo’s brain glazes over. soonyoung’s hand is warm on wonwoo’s body as he slowly, delicately lifts wonwoo, until wonwoo is stable on his feet. there is a hint of a fond squeeze, and the pressure of soonyoung’s hand on wonwoo’s waist disappears.

wonwoo thinks that he feels more unsteady than ever.

wonwoo exhales, shakily, “thanks for. that.” his brain feels fuzzy, thoughts echoing _soonyoung, what the hell, soonyoung_ , and not much else. the entire ordeal seems like a wild pipe dream. is he dreaming?

it’s nothing short of a miracle that wonwoo managed to keep his grip on his umbrella the entire time — despite losing grip on, perhaps, his entire sanity in the process. he holds it over soonyoung as soonyoung unlocks his door, calmly, as if he doesn’t hear wonwoo’s brain consuming itself in the background.

“now we’re even,” soonyoung beams, looking back at wonwoo, “you saved my life from the rain, and i saved yours from falling.” false, seeing as wonwoo _has_ fallen. hard. for soonyoung. “and really, thank you for walking me home.”

soonyoung swings his door open, and wonwoo catches a glimpse of the interior: it’s messy in a comfortable, “lived-in” sort of way, and—is that a framed taemin poster? soonyoung steps inside, continuing, “you know, you’re actually really funny. in the dumbest way. but that’s also the best way!”

wonwoo manages to blush harder than he’s already blushing, somehow. “thanks. i guess?”

soonyoung shoots a finger gun at wonwoo, even _winks_ on top of it. “no problem. thanks again for walking me home! i’ll see you around, nonu, yeah?” soonyoung wiggles his fingers goodbye, and shuts the door before wonwoo has a chance to respond.

what. just happened. wonwoo tightens his grip on his umbrella, exhales, and turns, and sets off for the bus stop to return home. he’s extra careful not to slip on his way down the steps without a soonyoung to catch him.

and. shit. first off, soonyoung catching him. wonwoo thinks he can still feel the ghost of soonyoung’s hand around him, the memory laying hot and heavy in his brain. the moment will probably haunt wonwoo to the grave, and other assorted milestones along the way. particularly, wonwoo’s bed.

secondly—and wonwoo grits his teeth in frustration at the thought—he forgot to get soonyoung’s number. _again_. at the very least, he has soonyoung’s address now, but wonwoo wants a boyfriend, not a restraining order, so he is once again at a loss.

and third, nonu? did soonyoung call him _nonu_? wonwoo’s busy muttering his own name under his breath, trying to extrapolate how soonyoung could have heard _nonu_ from _wonwoo_ when his ears perk up at something—the sound of some _one_ , below the thunder of rain. he turns around in curiosity.

it’s soonyoung.

of _course_ it’s soonyoung. the universe wouldn’t rest if it wasn’t soonyoung, wonwoo thinks. it’s soonyoung running full-force towards him in the pouring rain, smiling at wonwoo, panting. wonwoo wonders briefly who decided he deserved to be thrust in the romance movie of his dreams, and decides that it doesn’t matter, because this isn’t a movie it’s his _life,_ and there is soonyoung, soonyoung, soonyoung.

and there he is, once again under wonwoo’s umbrella, clutching on to wonwoo’s arms with damp, desperate fingers. soonyoung had changed out of his shirt, now in a yellow knit sweater—but it was futile, really, seeing as soonyoung’s just as, if not more, drenched than before. “soonyoung,” wonwoo says, “you’re probably going to get a cold from today at this rate, you know?”

soonyoung exhales a laugh, and presses his face into wonwoo’s chest. it’s cold where soonyoung’s hair wets wonwoo’s shirt, but he doesn’t care. his heart is on the verge of bursting. “nonu, _nonu_ ,” soonyoung looks up into wonwoo’s eyes and says, in one breath, “how do you say ‘i’m sorry i closed the door on you i’m an idiot i think you’re really cute and can i get your number?’ in flowers?”

wonwoo blinks back at soonyoung. his heart, his cheeks, his arms where soonyoung’s hands press into them—it’s all warm, radiating with happiness. wonwoo is overwhelmed, so in his own articulate manner, he responds: “um.”

“um?” soonyoung is grinning, playful, fingers tapping a rhythm that matches the rain around them on wonwoo’s arm, now.

“um,” wonwoo laughs at his own distress, “my name is _won_ woo, not nonu, actually.” his mind reels, still, from what soonyoung had said. _i think you’re really cute_. soonyoung thinks _wonwoo_ is _really cute_.

“then, wonwoo!” soonyoung leans in, laughing at himself too, now, “you’ve certainly,” he clicks his tongue, pausing, “ _won_ my heart!” he winks on top of it, exaggeratedly, and every cell in wonwoo’s body is telling him that he’s in love, he’s in love. soonyoung looks ridiculously pleased with himself.

“but _really_. how do you say ‘i’m sorry, i’m an idiot, i think you’re cute, can i get your number’, but in flowers, because i really don’t want to seem super obvious to a guy that i just—” soonyoung squints up at wonwoo, “ran to in the pouring rain.”

and wonwoo grins back at him, sewing the sight of soonyoung’s smile carefully into his memories. he doesn’t know if he deserves it—deserves to be this happy, wonwoo means. but flower meanings? that, he knows.

“you could use purple hyacinths, for ‘i’m sorry.’” and hyacinths thread themselves in the spaces between soonyoung’s fingers, fingers that find their way gently to wonwoo’s hands. wonwoo’s daydreams, once again, let him down: soonyoung’s hands are even softer than he had imagined, cradled against wonwoo’s fingers.

“there’s no flower for ‘i’m an idiot’—and you’re not, anyway. but there is white lilac, for humility.” and there are lilacs growing in soonyoung’s hair, around soonyoung’s face, framing cheeks that curve upwards into a soft, fond smile. they’re white, stark against the red of soonyoung’s blushing ears.

“white camellias mean ‘you’re adorable’, which you are.” wonwoo adds, and soonyoung smiles even harder, and there are camellias taking root in wonwoo’s heart, wrapping around his veins. soonyoung’s like the sun, wonwoo thinks, and under the heat of soonyoung’s gaze on his, every flower inside of him bursts into full bloom.

“and there aren’t flowers to ask for someone’s number, but,” wonwoo bites his lip, “something tells me that you’re getting your message across just fine no matter what happens.”

soonyoung lets out a sigh of relief. “oh thank you. i would _hate_ for my flower grammar to be off.”

they laugh together at that, fingers intertwined, soonyoung leaning into wonwoo under their umbrella. wonwoo relishes in the happiness of the moment.

soonyoung lifts his head, and his smile disappears with a shiver. “i’m. also freezing and really wet but i _really_ like you, but i also feel disgusting, so do you mind walking me home again?”

wonwoo feels his heart flip. “you really like me?” he beams.

“is that all you took from that?” soonyoung pouts, and wonwoo revels in being the tiniest bit closer to being allowed to kiss the pout right off of him. “i’m going to get _sick_ , wonwoo!”

“with a lovebug, maybe—”

soonyoung seems legitimately offended, but the soft thumb he’s rubbing across wonwoo’s hand says otherwise. “a lovebug, and a cold, and maybe even the _flu_ , and if that happens you’re definitely paying for my medicine.”

“it’s the twenty-first century, soonyoung. we can split the bill, even if it was _entirely_ your fault.” wonwoo taps a finger twice on the squishy hand wrapped around his. “you didn’t think about this when you ran out headfirst into the rain?”

soonyoung threads their fingers together, tightly. “it’s called having priorities,” he says. “and i had something _really_ important to chase after.”

“i think that really important something thinks _you’re_ really important too,” wonwoo beams. “so let’s get you home quickly, yeah?”

and wonwoo tucks this moment—soonyoung’s hand in his, a tiny private world together under his umbrella—quietly, delicately, into a list he pens now: “memories he wants to revel in forever.”

⚘ ⚘ ⚘ ⚘ ⚘

(“hey wonwoo, what does this plant mean in plantspeak?”

“ivy? you could interpret it to mean affection or marriage. why do you hav—”

“jeon wonwoo, _i’d-vy_ very happy to spend the rest of my life with you.”

 

“...holy shit? is that a ring engraved with the first shitty pick-up line i said to you?”

“yeah, yeah! you’d love to grow _old_ with me, soon _young_!”

“i. just.”

“hm. yeah?”

“ i love you—”

“i know!”

“—and you’re perfect—”

“you’re correct—”

“—and yes, _hell_ yes i’ll marry you. soonyoung, there isn’t a single universe that i wouldn’t marry you in.”

“ah, well! i’m happy to be here with you in one of many, then.”)

  


**Author's Note:**

> parsleys mean gratitude!! thank you so much for reading this and i hope you enjoyed it! (❁´◡`❁)


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